


feel the static

by wordsoverflow



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Rocketman (2019) RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Banter, First Time, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Pining, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 18:31:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19301404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsoverflow/pseuds/wordsoverflow
Summary: “I want you,” Richard breathes, and it’s as exhilarating to finally say it as it is terrifying. He nudges at Taron’s jaw with his nose until Taron turns his head back and Richard catches his mouth in a kiss. “Iwantyou,” Richard repeats into the slick wetness of Taron’s mouth.(richard is captivated by the way taron sings and maybe more than a little captivated by taron himself, too)





	feel the static

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is sponsored by the footage of taron in the recording studio and all the pictures of taron and richard together that make me say “richard why are you looking at him like that?” out loud

“Can he—Taron—can he sing?” Richard asks, taking a sip of his water. He knows of Taron Egerton, of course, though he’s never met the man personally and Richard is wary of joining a musician biopic if the lead can’t even sing.

Dexter gives him a smirk, looking like the cat that got the canary. He pulls out his phone and a tangled pair of earbuds. “Here.” He plugs the headphones in, taps at a few things on his phone, and hands it to Richard.

Richard squints at him, slightly bemused by Dexter’s smug expression and ambiguous behavior. “Alright,” he says, taking the phone and fitting the earbuds into his ear. There’s an unnamed audio file shown on the phone screen and Richard taps play.

The instrumentals on the track are rudimentary—this is a demo, not formally produced—but the voice is clear, sweet as honey but strong and confident. There’s the edge of a rasp to the vowels. It’s just _gorgeous_. Richard feels a bit frozen in his seat, captivated by the cadence of singing in his ears. He’s _heard_ Rocketman before, knows Elton’s music quite well, and somehow this has him feeling caught off guard, captivated.

The clip ends depressingly quickly. Richard carefully removes the earbuds. His arms have broken out in goosebumps.

He looks up at Dexter. “Right. When’s the audition?”

—

“Do another one,” Richard calls over the intercom connecting the recording booth and the studio switchroom. Dex is conversing with the technician beside him. It’s a month into production and Taron has convinced Richard to come along to one of his recording sessions at the London studio; Richard knows Taron wants him to sing Honky Cat today.

Taron laughs, a little breathless, pink in the cheeks with exertion from singing his heart out. He looks devastatingly lovely. “Rich, you can’t keep stalling. I’ve heard you sing. You’re _good_. Come on.”

Richard shakes his head. “I’m not stalling, I promise,” he insists, putting his most sincere face on. “Just...one more, for me.” He’s maybe stalling only a little bit—but mostly Richard just wants to listen to Taron sing forever. Forever might not be physically possible, but damn if he won’t try to get every minute that he can.

“Okay,” Taron surrenders. Richard fights the urge to literally pump his fist in the air with victory.

“Which one next?” Taron asks, now directing his words to the studio technician and Dex. He adjusts the brown jacket he’s wearing and takes a sip from the bottled water beside him. Richard watches, entranced by the smallest things. He tells himself it’s just because Taron carries that kind of intangible but undeniable charisma, the kind that makes everyone want to be around him. He tells himself it’s because he’s playing opposite Taron in this film and he needs to know everything about his costar to be the best that they can be. Richard tells himself a lot of things.

“Uh,” Dex starts, “how are you feeling about Tiny Dancer? And you’re not tiring out? We don’t need to do all the recordings at one time.”

Taron shakes his head. “No, no, I’m good. Tiny Dancer—great. Start it up.” Taron flits his eyes to Richard and offers him a small smile. “I’m doing this for _you_ ,” he says, faux sternly. “As long as you promise we’re doing Honky Cat next.”

Richard smiles at him in return and puts his hands up. “I promise, okay. Now get off my arse and sing, you tit.”

“Spoiled,” Taron shoots back, and then he’s settled his headphones on as the tech adjusts the recording equipment and music swells.

“Blue jean baby,” Taron starts to croon and Richard leans forward, settles in for the unbelievable show. Just hearing Taron sing was enough to convince Richard to go for the film; watching Taron sing is enough to make Richard wish it never ends.

When he hits the first falsetto note, Taron smiles slightly, as if he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. Richard lets out a shuddery breath and wipes his suddenly sweaty palms on his jeans. There are goosebumps on his arms again. 

“Alright there, lad?” Dex is side-eyeing him a bit.

Richard clears his throat, leans back and crosses his arms, trying for as casual as possible. “Yeah, yeah. Of course,” he says. “He’s doing great.” He nods over at Taron, who is swaying slightly with the music now and fuck if that isn’t the most endearing thing.

Dex lets out a chuckle, nodding. “He’s bloody incredible,” he says. “Can’t imagine anyone else being able to do _that_.”

Taron finishes off the last note, a mellow, sweet sound that seems to linger in Richard’s ears. Taron pulls off his headphones and looks to the booth. “How was that?” He looks so _earnest_ , and even more flushed and breathless after three songs right in a row. It’s hard to look away from him.

Richard suddenly feels claustrophobic in the booth, he needs to _get out_ of here. He stands up, and Dex is busy praising Taron so he doesn’t say anything when Richard quickly steps out of the room. As soon as he’s in the hallway, Richard is hyperaware of how quick his breathing is. “Shit,” he mutters, shaking his head at himself. “Pull it together, idiot.”

Just down the hall there’s a small room, ostensibly for breaks, with a very out of date kitchenette and an assortment of mismatched chairs and a very beat up old couch. Richard seats himself on one of the chairs just adjacent to the arm of the couch, facing one of the cushions. He’s not even had ten seconds to think before there are footsteps approaching and then Taron is stepping inside.

“Hey,” he says. “God, it’s hot in here.” He frowns and shrugs off his brown jacket, tossing it onto the small table at the center of the room. “Aren’t you warm in here?”

Richard laughs. “No, because I don’t run at the same temperature as a kitchen oven, give or take.”

Taron sticks his tongue out and plops down on the couch, on the cushion across from where Richard is slouched in his chair. This puts them rather close. “At least my feet aren’t actually blocks of ice,” he counters. “How many pairs of socks have you brought to set _already_ , and it’s been what? A week?”

“You leave my socks alone,” Richard warns, kicking slightly at Taron’s shin.

Taron gives him a half-hearted kick back, before fixing him with a look. “Why’d you run off back there?”

Richard shifts uncomfortably in his spot. “Didn’t,” he says, and sounds unconvincing even to his own ears. The problem is, he’s not entirely sure _what_ sent him running at all.

“Was it me screeching back there?” Taron jokes.

“ _God,_ no,” Richard says immediately, can’t even reign it in and follow the joke because equating Taron’s singing to screeching in any capacity is absurd. Taron blinks a little, clearly taken aback by the force of Richard’s response. “I...I just, no, of course not. You sound bloody amazing. Unfair, really. We can’t all be triple threats, you know.”

“Right,” Taron says, quiet, like he’s contemplating something. He just watches Richard for several long moments, and Richard feels like it should be awkward, like he should want to say something to break the quiet. He feels like he should want Taron to look anywhere but at him.

He should want those things but instead he says nothing, watches Taron watch him with bated breath. He stares at Taron’s eyes, the startling clear blue of them, and how they move over Richard’s face, tracing every feature. He sees when they drop to Richard’s chest and torso, his legs. He lets Taron look him all over and realizes suddenly and all at once that he likes it. He’s not even sure what it is Taron is looking for or why, but he knows he _likes_ it.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

“Are you nervous about doing the recording?” Taron says suddenly, and now that Richard’s had his epiphany, all he can do is stare at the obscenely sharp edge of Taron’s jaw and imagine what it might look like marked up by Richard’s mouth.

“No,” Richard half-lies. He’s _not_ a singer, not the way Taron is. He knew of course that this was part of the role and he’s going to do it, but he doesn’t feel at home with it the way Taron clearly is.

“Richard,” Taron says. “I’ve _heard_ you sing. You’re good. You’re so fucking good.” He’s leaning in closer to Richard, as if proximity might make Richard believe it.

“With auto-tune,” Richard snarks, but leans in closer, too. What else can he do? He can smell Taron’s cologne, his deodorant, and the very faint scent of clean sweat under that.

“Oh, shove off,” Taron scolds. “So stubborn.” He shakes his head and then reaches a hand out to grip Richard’s knee. Richard uses every bit of skill he has to keep his facial expression in check. “I’m glad it was you,” Taron murmurs. They’re so near each other now. “For the role. I’m glad you got it.”

Before he realizes he’s moved, Richard finds himself hovering over Taron, a knee between Taron’s spread legs on the couch, his other foot braced on the ground. Taron’s leaning back, head turned up to look at Richard. His hands are gripping Richard’s waist. His eyes are heavy-lidded and his mouth is slack, soft. Pretty.

“Taron,” Richard mutters, leaning down further, their faces centimeters apart. He rests one shaky hand on Taron’s shoulder and brings the other up to cup Taron’s jaw.

Taron pushes his face up and closes the gap between them.

Richard may or may not squeak slightly, curling in even closer to Taron. He feels Taron let out a shuddery sigh, like he’s been holding his breath. Richard wants to smile a little but he’s busy kissing Taron like it’s the only thing he wants to do for the rest of his life. Maybe it is. When Taron slackens his mouth enough for Richard to brush their tongues together, Richard _shudders_ and feels himself tense, gripping harder at Taron’s shoulder and nipping at Taron’s bottom lip.

Taron makes a tiny, sweet sound and pants harshly against Richard’s mouth. One of Taron’s hands has moved to the lowest part of Richard’s back, just before the curve of his arse. Richard kind of wants him to move his hand even lower. He’s hyperaware of the fact that his cock is chubbed up slightly and wonders what he would find if he moved his knee all the way up between Taron’s legs.

“Taron? Richard?”

The sound of Dexter calling their names is disorienting to Richard—he’d practically forgotten where they were, what they were doing. He pulls his mouth away from Taron’s, but Taron grabs him by the back of his neck before he can draw back entirely. Taron keeps their foreheads together, thumb rubbing soothingly over the skin just at the nape of Richard’s neck. “It’s okay,” Taron murmurs. “We don’t have to do the recording today.” He presses a very soft kiss to Richard’s mouth.

“I….” Richard starts, more than a little dazed. He hears Dex’s footsteps coming closer and forces himself to stand up and sit back down in his own chair. Dex appears in the doorway. Richard could swear his eyes flick between them for a beat too long, but it could very well be just in Richard’s head.

“Everything good?” Dex asks.

“Yeah,” Taron says smoothly. “I think I’m about maxed out for the day, though, Dex. Start up again another time?” Richard stares at his mouth as he talks, unable to make himself snap out of it.

Dex waves a hand. “Oh yeah, of course. You did great today, just fantastic. Go on, get some rest.” He nods at them both and then turns and walks away.

It’s just the two of them now, and Richard wonders if they’re going to fucking talk about it. They probably _should_. Instead, Richard opens his mouth and hears himself say, “You want to try out that Thai place a few blocks over?”

Taron smiles happily and agrees, and they head over to the restaurant in Taron’s car, chatting and teasing each other as if nothing has changed at all. But when Taron drops Richard off at his own flat, he leans and gives Richard a kiss goodnight before he leaves the car.

They still don’t talk about it.

—

Two weeks later, Richard finds himself practically sulking in the costume design wing on the London set. They hadn’t done much filming at all today—lots of costume and lighting work instead. He’s sat on an old couch in the far corner of the wide room; Jamie is beside him, scrolling idly through his phone. Taron is on the other side of the room, standing with his arms out as a tailor takes his measurements. Richard wonders if Taron’s lips are still burning, too, if he can still feel the kiss they shared at lunch, stolen in secret in Richard’s dressing room. He squints his eyes, trying to see Taron’s lips from this distance.

“Mate, you have it bad.” Jamie says it so matter-of-fact, like it’s inarguable and no big deal. He raises his eyebrows when Richard opens his mouth to protest, or downplay it. “Richard,” he says, somewhere between soothingly and knowingly.

Richard sighs. “I—maybe. Yes.” He drops his eyes to his jeans and picks at a thread unraveling from the denim.

Jamie reaches out and pats Richard’s back. “He is incredible,” Jamie says. Jamie moves his eyes over to where Taron is being fitted for a costume jacket or something now. Richard follows his gaze easily. Taron is laughing at something the tailor is saying, eyes _literally_ twinkling and pink tongue poking own between his teeth.

“Yeah,” Richard agrees, and now he can’t quite look away from Taron, who’s doing an adorable little twist and twirl as he and the tailor examine the fit of the piece in the mirror.

As if Taron can feel eyes on him, he turns and peers over to where Jamie and Taron are sitting. “What are you lot staring at?” Taron calls. Richard flushes and looks down at his lap.

“Your dumb face,” Jamie shoots back and Richard peers up just enough to see Taron flip him the bird. The tailor taps his shoulder then and Taron returns his attention to her, then starts shrugging the jacket off. He’s only wearing an undershirt beneath it and that is _way_ beyond what Richard can handle right now, so he drops his eyes again.

He hears Jamie sigh long-sufferingly beside him. “You know he watches you, too.” Jamie kicks at Richard’s ankle a bit. “Oi,” Jamie says when Richard doesn’t reply. “You _know_ that, right?”

He finally looks up at Jamie, with his kind eyes, and warm, friendly personality. It’s impossible not to trust him and perhaps that’s what makes Richard say, “We snog. Sometimes. A lot, I dunno.”

Jamie raises his eyebrows and then unexpectedly barks out a _laugh_. “Jesus,” he says. “If you’re already hooking up with him, why do you look like such a kicked puppy?”

“We’re not hooking up,” Richard corrects. “We just—snog. Like, in the car sometimes or the bathroom between takes or...or when I stay over at his place after going over the script, sometimes we...kiss good night.” He scuffs his heel over the pavement, suddenly itching for a smoke.

“And…?” Jamie questions like he can’t see a single issue here.

“ _And_ ,” Richard starts, needing Jamie to understand, “I don’t know if he’s just like, doing it for the...for the movie.” He mumbles the last part, because Jamie’s eyebrows have continued to rise the more he speaks. “You know,” Richard elaborates, gesturing vaguely. “All...method-y, or whatever.”

He is _not_ expecting the smack Jamie lands on his shoulder at all. “Hey!” He frowns at Jamie. Taron is laughing again across the room and the sound is ringing in Richard’s ears.

“Well, then, don’t be a tosser,” Jamie tells him, completely unapologetic. “Taron’s a committed actor, not an arsehole. If neither of you has said you’re _snogging_ just for the role, then I promise you that’s not what he thinks it is. He wouldn’t do that unless you’d agreed to it, made it clear.” Jamie shakes his head. “Does he make you that nervous? That you’d really think he was snogging you day and night for any reason except that _he wants to_?”

Jamie is disturbingly right and it’s making Richard feel dumb and inconsiderate. “Okay, okay,” he grouches. “I get it.” He turns his head upward, squinting at the ceiling. “He doesn’t make me nervous. It’s like...he makes me so _not_ nervous that _that_ makes me nervous.” Richard grimaces. “That made no sense.” He drops his head back down, looking Jamie full on. “It’s too easy to be with him, you know? Like I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Jamie shakes his head at him. “You’re better than this kind of melodrama,” he says, and Richard snacks him this time. Jamie snickers, then flits his eyes over to Taron. Richard resists doing the same. Immediately, Jamie looks back at him. “He’s staring at you now.”

“What?” Richard impulsively turns his neck around and indeed sees Taron, slouched in a set chair, looking right in their direction.

“I promise it’s not me he’s looking at, mate,” Jamie tells him, clapping his shoulder. He stands up abruptly.

“Where—?” Richard starts, alarmed.

Jamie shakes his head. “You’re a big kid,” he tells Richard, smirking slightly. He dusts off his shirt. “And Richard—I am _sure_ Taron is as upsettingly lovesick as you are. I am _sure_.” He winks at Richard and stalks away, leaving Richard to puzzle over that in a panic.

He realizes suddenly that it’s just Taron and Richard left in this corner of the studio. Everyone else is down the hall, in other rooms and sets. He takes a few deep breaths and looks up at Taron, still seated in that chair across the room. “Are you meditating or something?” Richard calls, going for teasing. “Awfully quiet. I’m not really used to it.”

Taron stands up from the chair. “You wouldn’t know meditating if it hit you in the face,” he tells Richard, coming closer. “Where’d Jamie run off to?”

Richard shrugs. “Dunno. I think he got tired of me.” Taron stops right in front of Richard. He’s still standing and close enough that their toes are touching, close enough that Richard is forced to look up at him to see his face. Richard’s breath catches in his throat a little bit.

“Makes sense,” Taron teases. “Happens to me all the time.”

Richard makes a face. “Wanker.”

Taron looks _so good_ , fresh faced from hair and makeup removal. His jeans are deliciously fitted and that undershirt is thin, clinging to the slight softness of his belly and enhancing the bulk of his shoulders. Richard can smell his cologne from here and tries really hard not to let his eyes flutter when he catches the scent.

He must not succeed, because Taron makes a soft noise and brings hand up to caress the side of Richard’s face, thumb running oh so gently along Richard’s undereye. “Hey,” Taron murmurs. “Hey, Richard.” And then he’s swinging a knee over either side of Richard’s thighs on the couch, effectively straddling his lap.

Richard reflexively brings his hands up to Taron’s waist, perhaps his favorite spot in the whole world right now. The world suddenly feels much smaller and safer and more exciting, it always does whenever he gets close to Taron. That’s what makes it so easy to lean in and press his lips to Taron’s, to use his grip on Taron’s waist to pull him that much nearer.

Taron hums, sounding so fucking content, and loops his arms around Richard’s neck. “Been waiting all day to do that,” Taron admits against Richard’s lip as their kiss slows.

Richard smiles. “All day? Don’t you have anything else to do with your spare time?”

“Shut up,” Taron pouts, poking savagely at Richard’s abdomen and making him yelp. This close, Richard can see how clear the blue of Taron’s eyes is, how light filters through them whenever they get caught in the sun streaming through the windows. “If you don’t knock it off, I’m going to pull a Jamie and get tired of you and leave you,” Taron warns.

The places where their skin touches _burns_ Richard and he’s never been more addicted to the touch of another person than this. “Do you?” Richard asks suddenly, brain to mouth filter disabled. “Get tired of me?” He _knows_ , somewhere, that Taron was joking but it hits too close to the center of all Richard’s worries.

“What?” Taron asks, looking bewildered. “I—no, of course not. Rich, why would you ask that?”

Richard feels maybe a bit possessed because the words just fumble out of him, his closely kept secrets laid bare. “I never get tired of you,” Richard tells him. “I never stop wanting to be around you. I think about you all the time, every minute.” He laughs a little hysterically because he can’t _stop_. “Jesus, Taron, I—”

Taron cuts him off with a kiss, but it isn’t slow or gentle or hesitant like all their kisses before this. Taron holds onto Richard’s face with both hands, and nips at Richard’s mouth until he lets his lips go slack, then nudges his tongue against Richard’s. Richard feels like he’s spinning and he clutches closer to Taron in response.

Taron lets out a gorgeous breathy noise and arches a little, pressing their torsos and chests together. He’s so _warm_ , even through the layers of their clothes. Richard dips just the tips of his fingers beneath the hem of Taron’s undershirt, barely brushing smooth skin. “Can I…?” He doesn’t even finish the question before Taron’s nodding, kissing down Richard’s jaw sloppily.

“ _Yes_.”

Richard pushes his hands up fully beneath the undershirt, pressing his palms greedily to the slightly sweaty curve of Taron’s back. He doesn’t even try to stifle his groan. He buries his face in Taron’s shoulder and Taron rolls his head to the side slightly. Richard drags his mouth from Taron’s shoulder up the exposed line of Taron’s neck, breathing hotly over the skin. He bring his hands around to Taron’s front, wiggling them into the tight space between them. He presses his fingers into the soft skin there, the firm muscle beneath, and strokes his thumb over where it’s brushing the downy hair under Taron’s navel.

“I want you,” Richard breathes, and it’s as exhilarating to finally say it as it is terrifying. He nudges at Taron’s jaw with his nose until Taron turns his head back and Richard catches his mouth in a kiss. “I _want_ you,” Richard repeats into the slick wetness of Taron’s mouth.

Taron smiles into their kiss. “Finally.” He gives Richard one more biting kiss and pulls back enough to let them look each other in the eye.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Richard asks, pouting. “You didn’t say anything either.” Taron looks thoroughly kissed, lips stick and swollen and pink. Richard has been to the fucking Louvre and still never seen anything as stunning.

“Mm,” Taron replies, scrunching his nose. “But it’s so much more fun to blame you for shit.” He pushes a hand through Richard’s hair, combing through the strands carefully. “For example, I may or may not have broken the coffee machine this morning, and I may or may not have told everyone it was your fault.”

Richard gasps. “That’s why everyone has been giving me dirty looks today, you wanker!”

Taron _laughs_ , like the evil bastard he is, but it makes his eyes scrunch up and his cheeks pink and Richard can’t help but being fucking endeared despite the backstabbing. “Jamie backed me up, too,” Taron tells him. “It was great. I didn’t even ask him to. But it’s _so_ much more believable with two eye witnesses.”

“I hate you both,” Richard says, sniffing indignantly.

Taron snickers and gives him a sweet, slow kiss. He pulls back and drags his fingers over Richard’s cheek, looking at him thoughtfully. “I didn’t say anything,” Taron starts, suddenly quite serious. “Because I...I thought perhaps you were just like, doing it for the role. Or maybe that you would...reject me.”

“Are you joking?” Richard bursts out, close to laughter. “Are you telling me you didn’t say anything for the same reasons?”

Taron chuckles, then drops into heartier peals of laughter. Richard can’t help himself then either, bursting into hysterical giggles, and pressing their foreheads together as they laugh. “Christ,” Richard gasps, willing himself to calm down. “Are we just a pair of tossers then? A couple of right idiots?”

Taron sighs, cheeks still pink with amusement. “Jamie certainly thinks so,” he says.

“Yeah— _wait_ ,” Richard says, brow furrowing. “You talked to Jamie, too?”

Taron snorts. “Of course. Had to whine to someone and it couldn’t have been you, for obvious reasons.”  He thumbs over Richard’s lips, brushes his fingers over Richard’s brow, as if in wonderment.

Jamie’s _I’m sure_ comment is suddenly starting to make a lot of sense. “Oh my God,” Richard groans. “He’s never going to let us live this down. I was _just_ talking to him about you.” He brings his hands up to smooth along the length of Taron’s arms.

“Oh really?” Taron asks. “What were you saying to him about me?”

Richard smirks. “Just, you know, how you’re pretty much the _worst_ person I’ve ever met.” He ducks in to kiss down Taron’s throat.

“Hmm,” Taron hums. “And how do you feel about the worst person you’ve ever met taking you home for the night?” His accent is so _pretty_ , lilting and raspy. Richard is quite sure he could listen to Taron read out the instructions to a refrigerator and it’d be attractive.

Richard feels heat flash through his body. “If that’s what the worst person I’ve ever met would like,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to Taron’s lips.

Taron makes a happy noise and wraps his arms around Richard’s neck. “Yes, that’s exactly what the worst person you’ve ever met would like.” Richard lets Taron kiss him soundly until they’re both out of breath and then they get up and race giddily to the parking lot. They pass by Jamie on the way out and he gives them one look before bursting out laughing, whistling as they flip him off and continue out the door.

—

Taron has a flat only minutes from set and Richard is beyond grateful for that, because the energy rapidly rising inside of him has him restless and heated. As soon as they park and get inside Taron’s flat, they’re tripping over themselves to get upstairs and to Taron’s bedroom. Richard has been in here dozens of times before now, to go over the script or to binge watch a show or to pass out for much needed sleep after a long day on set. Once they get inside the room and shut the door, Richard feels hyperaware of how raggedly they’re both breathing. The promise of what’s about to happen feels tangible, thick in the air between them.

“T,” Richard murmurs, bringing a hand up to cup Taron’s jaw. It’s shaking a bit. Taron notices and brings his own hand up to press against Richard’s—he’s shaking, too. Richard lets out a breath and leans in to kiss Taron and just like that they _click_ , they way they always do.  

That magnetic pull between makes it all so _easy_. It’s easy to walk Taron back until he hits the wall nearest his bed and snog him until he’s breathing like he’s run a marathon. It’s easy to stand back and wrestle Taron’s shirt off, to run his hands over the newly exposed skin and grin wildly at how good it feels. It’s easy when Taron gives a breathless laugh and tugs Richard back in, kisses down his neck.

It’s the easiest thing he’s ever done and yet somehow the most intense, the most pleasurable and exciting. Richard strips his own shirt off, kicks off his shoes, and falls back onto the bed, keeping himself lifted on his elbows so he can watch Taron struggle with his boots. He almost falls over yanking one off and Richard laughs. “Don’t hurt yourself there,” he teases.

Taron makes a face but climbs up on the bed to straddle Richard, undeterred. “Twat,” he murmurs, then shoves Richard’s shoulder so that he lays back all the way. He leans down and for a split second Richard appreciates having Taron take up his entire visual field, that he’s all Richard can see right now, and then Taron is snogging him proper. Richard opens his mouth for Taron at the first brush of his tongue. Taron gives the slightest chuckle and cups the side of Richard’s face, kissing him deep and slow and _good_.

“I think you should fuck me,” Taron breathes, dragging his wet mouth along Richard’s jawline.

Richard gasps, and bucks his hips up entirely involuntarily. It would be embarrassing if Taron didn’t groan and roll his body against Richard’s in response. “What do you think?” Taron asks, nuzzling into Richard’s neck.

“ _Yes_ ,” Richard grits out, holding onto Taron’s waist and then his hips. “Anything you want.”

Taron sits up a bit so Richard can see his face. “Mm,” he says, as if thoughtfully. “I suppose what I want is your cock.” He says it with the smuggest smirk on his face, but the sweetest look his eyes.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Richard groans. “You shithead, you can’t just say that.” He really, really wants to kiss the soft part of Taron’s abdomen, just below his navel.

Taron grins, looking sweaty and sexy and perfect. “What?” He asks, face perfectly charming. “Are you gonna shut me up?”

Richard sits up lightning quick, enough to off-balance Taron but Richard wraps a fast arm around his waist and pulls him close to Richard instead, stabilizing him on his waist. His abdominals ache with the effort of the sudden movement and strain, but it’s entirely worth it for the way Taron’s breath has gone rabbit fast and his eyes dazed. “Shit,” he pants, “that was so hot.”

There’s no stopping the grin that spreads across Richard’s face, and he gives Taron a soft, sweet kiss. He traces his fingers along the waistband of Taron’s jeans and Taron clutches tightly at Richard’s shoulders, whining oh so quietly. “That shut you up,” Richard murmurs.

Taron rolls his eyes. “I’d tell you not to brag,” Taron says. “But bragging is a really good look on you, you wanker.”

Richard grins, feeling very, very smug. “Is that so?”

“Unfortunately yes,” Taron confirms. “ _Naked_ would also be a very good look on you, you know.” He gives Richard a biting kiss, running his hands along Richard’s chest and torso. “Your body is bloody ridiculous, Jesus.”

Richard shivers a bit. “You first,” he says, and gets them both to stand up from the bed. He makes quick work of Taron’s button and zip then kisses down Taron’s chest and torso as he pulls the jeans off Taron’s body.

“God,” he breathes, brushing his hand over Taron’s thick cock when he stands back up. Taron groans a little and immediately undoes Richard’s own jeans, yanking them off aggressively. As soon as they’re both naked, Taron presses close to Richard, every inch of their bodies aligned, and kisses him messily, tongue everywhere.

“Rich,” Taron mumbles. “Come on.”

Richard nods and turns them so the back of Taron’s knees are pressed to the mattress, then pushes at Taron so that he lays back on the bed. Richard spreads himself out over Taron, slotting a thigh between Taron’s legs. His breath catches in his throat when Taron’s hot, hard cock brushes against him. Every touch that brings him closer to Taron is like fire through his veins.

“Have you ever done this?” Taron drops little kisses to Richard’s shoulder as he speaks. “Been with a man?” Taron pulls back, looks Richard in the face and smooths his hands over Richard’s chest.

Richard licks his lips. “I’ve sucked a few off,” he tells Taron, leaning down to kiss along that ridiculously sharp jawline. He hears Taron inhale, only a tad shakily. “What about you?”

Taron shrugs one shoulder. “Heavy petting, you know. Wanked a bloke once.” Taron tilts his chin up so Richard can press more kisses down his throat. The rasp of Taron’s voice is especially prominent right now and Richard _adores_ it. “Did you like it? Sucking them off?” He rocks his hips up, so that the hardness of his cock presses more directly against Richard’s thigh.

Richard hisses and flexes his thigh, giving Taron a firmer surface to move against. “Yes,” he answers, open mouthed and breathing hotly over Taron’s collarbone. “A lot. I liked it a lot.” Taron grips Richard’s arms tightly at the words, tight enough that it hurts a bit. Richard likes that a lot too. “Want to suck you off some time,” Richard breathes, moving back up to kiss Taron again.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Taron groans into Richard’s mouth, digging his short nails into Richard’s biceps.

The world spins for a moment as Taron abruptly flips them around, pressing Richard back into the mattress and quickly rearranging himself so that he’s straddling Richard’s hips. “You wanna suck me off?” Taron leans down, bracing his forearms on either side of Richard’s head. “Wanna get your mouth on me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do,” Richard responds without hesitation. He swallows thickly—his mouth has suddenly started watering. He watches Taron follow the movement of his throat with his eyes. Richard grabs Taron’s arse and smirks at the breathy sound Taron makes. “Honestly, I just want to do _everything_ with you.”

A slow, filthy grin works its way across Taron’s face. “Everything?” He moves down to kiss quickly over Richard’s mouth. “Bit ambitious of you, isn’t it?” He straightens up again and run his fingertips quickly down Richard’s chest and abdomen, making him shiver a little and arch.

“Oh, extremely ambitious,” Richard says, moving his hands from Taron’s arse, down his thighs, and back up again. “I’ve always been an overachiever.”

“Humble bragger,” Taron teases, curving his hands around Richard’s biceps.

Richard hums contemplatively. “Maybe,” he acquiesces. He gives Taron’s arse a firm squeeze and then rolls them over. It doesn’t go _entirely_ smoothly. Their legs get caught and tangled and there’s several moments of struggling to get back in order.

“You idiot.” Taron laughs at Richard as he shifts around awkwardly. “Did you really think that would work? Such an ego.” He tsks, still grinning broadly, as Richard finally gets properly situated between Taron’s spread knees.

Richard rolls his eyes and ducks down to kiss Taron quiet. “Me and my ego are still going to open you up and fuck you until you come.” Richard blinks for a moment once the words are out of his mouth; it hadn’t really been a conscious decision to say them and the filth of it has a blush rising to his cheeks. Except—-

“Jesus _Christ_ , Rich,” Taron hisses, bucking his hips up. On instinct, Richard brings his hand down and cups Taron’s cock, feels how hard and hot it is. He wraps his fingers around the girth of it and rubs his thumb along the underside. “Are you just going to talk about it or are you going to do it?” Taron would sound more teasing if he wasn’t squirming happily in Richard’s arms, trying to rocks his hips up and get some friction on his cock.

Richard smiles and lets his other hand rest on Taron’s jaw, giving him a soft, lingering kiss. He lets their mouths separate and nudges their noses together. “Are you challenging an overachiever, T?” He drags a fingertip over the sensitive head of Taron’s cock, holding back a chuckle at the way it makes Taron gasp and wiggle a bit.

“If it gets your cock in my arse, then yeah, I suppose I am,” Taron pants, throwing an arm around Richard’s shoulder and bringing his head up so he can _bite_ at Richard’s shoulder.

The sting of it pulls a heavy groan out of Richard. “ _Fuck_ ,” he breathes, ducking down and sucking a mark over Taron’s collarbone. “You drive me fucking _mad_ , you have no idea.” He kisses down Taron’s chest, licks over the fine, sparse hair covering it. The tang of sweat spreads quickly over his tongue and it only spurs Richard’s sudden frenzy. He moves down so he’s laying on his belly between Taron’s legs, hips pressed into the mattress and feet hanging off the edge of it. “It’s like I’m obsessed with you,” Richard admits, nosing into the downy hair trailing beneath Taron’s navel. The softness of Taron’s belly is something Richard could be content kissing forever.

“Bit creepy,” Taron says, clearly going for taunting but a bit too breathless for any real weight behind it.

“Shut up,” Richard murmurs, and then mouths wetly over Taron’s cock.

Instantly, Taron’s hand flies up to tangle his fingers tightly into Richard’s hair. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” His voice is so fucking raspy like this and Richard is feeling more and more like he might actually spontaneously combust with how fucking _into_ every part of Taron he is.

Richard reaches up to grab Taron’s free hand, but it’s clutching the sheets in a death grip, so he wraps his fingers around Taron’s wrist instead. He wraps his lips around the head of Taron’s cock and doesn’t even attempt to dial back his own groan of pleasure at the sensation. He hadn’t been lying at all when he’d told Taron he’d enjoyed the handful of times he’d sucked men off—but this is deeply satisfying in so many other ways. _This_ is Taron, the scent and taste and weight of him, this man that’s made Richard feel like electricity has been actually buzzing between them every moment for the past month.

“Rich,” Taron babbles. “You look—-you look r-really _good_ , oh fuck.” Taron tugs at Richard’s hair and hooks his calves over Richard’s shoulders.

Richard moans and sinks down further, _sucks_ in as hard as he can and pulls off, tonguing at the head of Taron’s cock. Taron moves his hand down from Richard’s hair and scratches harshly over Richard’s shoulder. Richard takes Taron’s cock back into his mouth, letting himself drool messily over the heated skin. He tastes salty, slightly bitter, and absolutely fucking perfect. Richard’s cock is hurting with how hard is he and he rocks his hips against the mattress, just for a bit of relief.

“Oh, God,” Taron says, strangled. Richard has started moving his head insistently now, absorbed in the rhythm of it, in the way it stretches his mouth and makes his jaw twinge. Taron bucks his hips up. “Richard, you gotta fuck me. _Fuck_ me, okay. Get inside me, _Rich_ , come on—”

Richard pulls off abruptly, panting, and drops wet, sloppy kisses along Taron’s pelvis and his hipbone. “Stuff,” he mutters. He turns his neck so he can mouth at Taron’s thigh, too. “Where’s the stuff? Gotta open you up.” Taron’s thigh is turning out to be very hard to pull away from, thick and firm, the skin so soft and sensitive too.

Taron groans and flings his left arm out, gesturing vaguely at the nightstand beside him. Richard wrenches himself away from his happy spot and climbs up high enough that he can stretch out and reach into the top drawer of the nightstand. His torso is hovering over Taron’s face and Taron takes the opportunity to crane his neck up and kiss frantically over every part of Richard’s skin he can reach.

“Fuck, love,” Richard hisses, fumbling his hand around in the drawer and trying to focus on the goal and not drop back down and kiss Taron senseless just yet.

“Never said I wasn’t obsessed too,” Taron tells him, gripping tightly at Richard’s waist.

Richard’s hand _finally_ bumps up against what can only be a bottle of lubricant, and the wrapper of a condom beside it. He grabs both in his hand and pulls back so that he’s kneeling between Taron’s spread legs again. Taron has turned a spectacular shade of red, and the hair at his temples is dark with sweat. Richard wants to fucking devour him. The bottle of lube is sealed shut, unopened. Richard raises a brow and nods at it.

Taron laughs. “Bought it like, three days after we met.” He bites his lip. “You know. Just in case.”

Richard feels heat rush through his body but grins teasingly at Taron. “Who has the giant ego now?”  He tears at the plastic wrapper over the lid with his teeth and pulls it off, tossing it aside. He places the condom somewhere to the left.

“Definitely still you,” Taron says, breathless again.

Richard opens the lube, and drizzles some onto his fingers. He brings them down between Taron’s legs and brushes them against the soft, wrinkled skin of Taron’s hole. His heart is racing so fast he feels like it might just leap out of his chest. “Me?” Richard breathes, bringing his face close to Taron’s own. “And why is that?”

He presses one finger carefully inside Taron, inside soft, molten heat and buries his face into Taron’s neck, overwhelmed. Taron _mewls_ and tilts his hips up, shifting restlessly underneath Richard. “I don’t know,” Taron gasps. “Don’t know— _oh_ , oh fuck. More, I need you to….”  

Richard tucks a second finger inside with the first and eagerly pushes them deeper. Taron arches beautifully under him, craning his neck to bite at Richard’s shoulder once more. They’re both sweaty and flushed and the air is beginning to smell of the two of them mingled together. It’s heady, like filthy sex _already_. “You feel so good,” Richard tells Taron, a little dizzy, his cock aching. He half-wonders if he’ll come just from this, just from the feeling of having his fingers inside Taron.

He pulls his fingers partly out and pushes them back in, just trying the motion out. Taron whines and so Richard does it again. When Taron gives an even louder whine, Richard sits up, and grips Taron’s knee, pulling it open wider. He tucks three fingers into Taron and begins fucking him in earnest with them. Taron gasps and nods fervently, one hand gripping at his own thigh and the other at the pillows above his head.

“Taron,” Richard chokes out, curling his fingers up. Taron _yelps_ and rocks his hips down.

“ _Again_ ,” Taron hisses, sounding a little bit wild. As if Richard could ever deny Taron a single thing. Richard obliges him immediately and his head swims at the frantic way Taron twists beneath him and groans loudly. The blue of Taron’s eyes, so easy to catch the light and sparkle, seems drenched in darkness now, pupils blown out and lids heavy. Richard stares at that for a moment, then lets his eyes drop down to where his hand is working between Taron’s legs.

He can’t see too much from this angle, just the movement of his own hand—the slickness of his fingers when they pull out of Taron and the way they disappear when he pushes back inside. It’s...it’s a lot and Richard grips onto Taron’s thigh tightly, willing himself not to come just at the visual.  Taron’s cock is actually fucking leaking and Richard’s mouth waters at the urge to lick it up.

“Richard,” Taron grits out. “Richard, look at me.”

Richard flicks his eyes up to Taron, his flushed face and hazy eyes.

“I-I’m ready, okay. You ready?” Taron asks him, eyelids fluttering when Richard curls his fingers inside him again.

It takes every ounce of willpower for Richard to pulls his fingers from Taron’s body, and he presses his fingertips to the rim just to feel the way the muscle is twitching at the sudden emptiness. “Fuck,” he breathes, shaky.

Taron sits up suddenly, grabbing the condom and ripping it open, then rolls it down Richard’s cock. Richard moans a little—his cock _hurts_ with how hard he is and Taron shudders, then wraps his hand around the shaft. “Gonna fuck me?” Taron breathes, gripping Richard’s jaw with his hand and kissing him fiercely. The rasp of his voice and the lilt of his accent are so fucking exaggerated and gorgeous.

Richard gets Taron onto his back again and shoves a pillow under his hips. He runs his hands greedily along Taron’s body for a moment, marveling at how _good_ it feels to finally have him like this. He grips at the bulk of Taron’s shoulders and biceps, runs his fingers over the fine, sweaty hairs on Taron’s chest, and palms at his thick cock. He can think of a thousand things he wants to do to Taron, and Taron to do to him.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Taron chants, scratching down Richard’s chest.  “Come on— _ah_.”

Richard lines up his cock with Taron’s hole and takes a deep breath, pressing in slowly. Taron is _burning_ inside, scorching and slick. Richard feels sweat dripping down his brow and blinks to keep it from his eyes. He drops down, settling his elbows on either side of Taron’s shoulders. “Okay?”

Taron nods, tilting his chin up for a kiss. Richard gives him one, slow and wet and dirty. “Never better,” Taron breathes into his mouth. Richard presses himself the rest of the way in and Taron grunts, raking his nails over Richard’s back.

“You’re so good,” Richard tells Taron, lapping up droplets of sweat from the hollow of Taron’s throat. He hitches Taron’s thighs up over his hips and experimentally draws his hips back, just a bit, before pushing back in.

Taron lets out a moan, long and sweet and the loudest yet. It sends fire flashing through Richard’s body and he lifts up enough that he can see Taron’s face. Taron looks surprised at himself and he brushes his hand over his mouth. “I-I’ve never—I’m not usually lo- _ungh_ ,” Taron breaks off into another heady groan and his eyes flutter a bit when Richard rolls his hips even deeper. “Not usually loud,” Taron gets out finally, moving his hips down as Richard draws out and thrusts back in.

Richard _grins,_ feeling stupidly proud of himself. “How flattering,” he teases.

Taron gets a look on his face like he’s about to snap right back but Richard moves Taron’s hips just a bit as he thrusts in once more and Taron lets out the most heart-stopping, gorgeous whine and his brow crumples in obvious pleasure. “ _There_ ,” he rasps, clutching hard at every part of Richard he can get at.

Richard is only too happy to oblige and Taron moans again, so prettily and loud. He blushes, visibly, and drags a pillow close to him as if to muffle the noises. “No,” Richard pants, rocking shallowly against Taron, keeping his cock in deep. “You’re just fucking _gorgeous,_ Taron,” he says, and tosses the pillow to the side. He hitches Taron’s thighs higher around his waist and rolls hips out then in once more.

Taron moans helplessly again and he’s the most stunning thing Richard has ever seen. “Perfect,” Richard groans, stroking a hand down the side of Taron’s face then pushing through his short, sweaty hair.

Taron arches up into him. “Can feel your cock,” he mumbles, sounding dazed and looking almost high. Richard chokes on his own breath a bit and grips tightly at Taron’s waist, tight enough to bruise. He might worry it was too much if it weren’t for the way Taron nods breathlessly at the touch. They’re both fucking shaking. “Do me hard,” Taron gasps, dropping a hand to Richard’s arse, encouraging him to move faster. “Okay, I haven’t been gagging for it for a _month_ for you to hold out on me, Rich—”

Richard snarls a bit and ducks his head down to bite at Taron’s throat, picking the pace up with his hips.

“ _Yes_ ,” Taron hisses triumphantly, locking his ankles behind Richard and tossing his head back.

They’re both drenched with sweat and the air absolutely stinks of it but Richard inhales the smell greedily, every single sensation right now pushing him out of his mind. He laughs a little giddily, groping at every part of Taron’s body he can reach.

“What’s funny?” Taron gasps, pushing his hips back each Richard thrusts in.

“Nothing,” Richard says. “Just—can’t believe how fucking— _good_ this is. T, Jesus, have you ever had anything like—like this?” He mouths harshly at Taron’s jawline, nips at his ear. He chuckles again. “Un-fucking-real.”  Taron moans, writhing beneath him.

“No. Haven’t,” Taron whines. “Keep—keep going, Rich, _close_ .” He seems to be losing his words a little and Richard wants to have him like this forever. He wriggles an arm underneath Taron’s waist and sits back onto his calves, keeping Taron in place on his cock so that Taron is effectively seated on his lap and Richard can thrust _up_ into him.

“What the fuck,” Taron pants into Richard’s ear. “You fucking show off— _oh_ , fuck me harder, like that, _fuck_.” Richard gets a hand at the small of Taron’s back, encourages him to tilt his hips forward so that Taron’s cock rubs up against Richard’s sweat-drenched abdomen. The angle makes it easier for Richard to get deeper.

Richard speeds up his thrusts until they’re almost frantic, as fast as he can go in this position and his balls are drawing up tight and throbbing. “T,” he moans, one hand gripping at Taron’s arse and the other grabbing Taron’s jaw, bringing his face nearer to Richard’s. Taron looks completely destroyed, face almost scarlet and eyes hazy—there are tears of pleasure beading at the corners. He’s got spit pooling on his slack lower lip and his hair is a mess, absolutely drenched in sweat. There are beads of perspiration sliding down his face. _I did that,_ Richard thinks dizzily.

They fall into a kiss, all teeth and spit and panting breaths. Richard can _feel_ Taron’s cock twitching against his belly and the only thing he fucking wants in the world is to have Taron come, just like this. “Please come, T,” he mumbles into the spit and sweat drenched place where their mouths are pressed together. His back is screaming in protest at the position and the strain of his muscles, but Richard could not fucking care less.

Taron’s breaths have begun to speed up, he’s nearly hyperventilating, and he’s clawing desperately at Richard’s back. He can feel Taron’s body tightening up around him and Richard bites his own lip hard enough that blood beads from it. “Fuck,” Taron whispers, then wraps his lips around the tiny cut, lapping up the small drop of blood. He shakes in Richard’s arms then keens softly, ducking to bury his head in Richard’s neck.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Richard babbles, bringing the hand on Taron’s arse down to feels at the place where his cock is sliding in and out of Taron’s body. “You can do it, love,” he tells Taron, bringing his other hand up to cup the back of Taron’s head. Taron moans and _bites_ him, so hard it makes Richard his and shoves his hips into Taron harshly. “Lemme feel you come,” Richard slurs, tantalizingly close himself.

Taron seizes up tight in his arms, and then there’s the burning, sticky splash of come on Richard’s skin as Taron’s dick shoots between them. His body is spasming around Richard’s cock and he’s whining—-raspy, delicious sounds that just about decimate the last of Richard’s composure. He chokes on a gasp and then he’s coming, hard and _good_ into the condom. The first few pulses completely paralyze him, the only thing he’s aware of is the feel of Taron’s mouth on his skin and the silky heat around his cock.

The last bit of it Richard crumples and falls onto his back, taking Taron with him. Taron falls heavily onto him and Richard feels one last pulse of come slip from Taron’s cock, smearing onto their skin. He groans and curls in slightly as his orgams tapers off, wildly overstimulated. He shifts his hips to slip his cock out of Taron’s body. Taron rests his cheek on Richard’s chest, starfished out haphazardly over Richard.

“ _Jesus Christ_ ,” Taron wheezes. “I get it, you’re an overachiever.”

Richard starts to chuckle breathlessly and then he can’t really stop, caught in a full fit of giggles. Taron snorts a bit into his sweaty skin before joining him. They lie there, covered in come and sweat and God knows what else, peals of laughter wracking their sore bodies. “God damn it,” Richard sighs when they finally start to calm down. “We should, uh, we should keep doing that.” He pushes his fingers soothingly through Taron’s sweat-soaked short hair.

“Mm,” Taron hums, dragging his fingers gently over Richard’s flank, now tacky with perspiration. “That’s the best idea you’ve ever had, Dicky.”

Richard flicks Taron’s shoulder. “Shut it,” he murmurs, maybe pulling Taron closer so he can nuzzle into his cheek slightly. He’s never felt such bone deep satisfaction and pure _relief_ , weeks of agonizing sexual tension finally given an outlet. “Next time, you’re fucking me.”

Taron sort of jolts against him, moaning hoarsely. “Oi,” he says. “You can’t say shit like that right after I’ve come, ‘s not fair.” He sounds drowsy already. They’re fucking disgusting, like truly, the amount of bodily fluids currently cooling between their bodies is obscene. Richard still feels tempted just to stay here, holding onto Taron until they fall asleep. He feels they’d probably regret waking up covered in their mess, however, so he sighs and pats softly at Taron’s bum.

“If you get up and we go run a shower, I’ll pay for pizza afterwards,” Richard offers.

Taron tilts his chin up, squinting at Richard. He looks fucking adorable. “Extra cheese?” Taron asks shrewdly. “And from that place I like?”

Richard couldn’t resist dropping a kiss to Taron’s forehead if his life depended on it. “Yes, of course,” he promises seriously, smoothing his hands up and down Taron’s back. It’s possible he’ll never get enough of touching Taron.

Taron sighs. “Okay.” He rolls off of Richard. They both wince at the way their sticky skin pulls apart. Taron flops onto his back beside Richard. Richard makes quick work of removing the condom and flings it in the general direction of the trash bin. Taron makes a sound. “Animal,” he sniffs, but tangles his fingers with Richard’s at the same time. He groans then sits up. “I’m literally only getting up for pizza,” he tells Richard. He ducks down and gives Richard a quick kiss, before standing up and heading in the direction of the bathroom, arse out and perfect.

Richard wolf whistles at the view and Taron doesn’t even look back when he flips him off in response. Richard laughs, gives himself a second to think about how his life has pretty much reached maximum pleasure and happiness in this moment, then heaves himself up off the bed and follows Taron, who already has the shower running.

Joining Taron under the spray, Richard tilts his face up, letting the water rinse away all the spit, sweat, and stray tears stuck to his skin. “T,” he starts, moving to let Taron do the same.

“Hm?” Taron blinks over at Richard, looking absolutely spectacular with water running all over him. His eyes are clear and catching the light once more.

“We should...let’s go to the recording studio tomorrow,” Richard says.

Taron’s face _lights_ up. “Yeah?” He sounds so fucking excited and it’s impossible not to pick up that joy. “You’re sure?” Richard beams at him, can’t help himself, and nods. Taron does an actual fist pump and moves in to give Richard a smacking kiss. “It’s gonna be great,” he rambles. “Honestly, Rich, it’s so much _fun_. And you’re gonna be so good, I know it.”

Richard laughs and grabs the body wash from the shower rack, lathering them both up as Taron continues on happily. Richard, for his part, has never felt quite so content and never so in sync with another person as he does right now, with this man. _Chemistry_ , Dex and half the crew had told Richard and Taron over and over again the past month. _You two have such great chemistry_. He doubts this is exactly what they had all meant but finds that it’s true anyway.

—

“Hey,” Taron says, as they’re putting on their headphones and the tech is fiddling with the settings in the recording booth. “Just look at me, yeah?” Richard nods, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. Taron reaches his foot out and nudges Richard’s ankle gently. “Listen, we get through this, and drinks are on me tonight, alright?”

Richard smirks. “I’m buying at least two of the most expensive cocktail there is.”

Taron rolls his eyes but puts his hand out to for Richard to shake. “You’re on, Dicky.”

Richard sticks his tongue out at Taron in response and Taron gives him a goofy grin. Then, all at once, the music is starting, piano notes ringing out in Richard’s headphones. Richard feels anxiety swell in his chest for just a moment, but then Taron is singing next him, joyous and clear and perfect and it’s too captivating for Richard to have any room at all for worry. Richard looks down at his arms: goosebumps.

His first line comes up quicker than he’d anticipated but Taron locks eyes with him just before and suddenly it’s the easiest thing in the world to belt out his lyrics. Taron _beams_ and nods approvingly.

It takes no effort to just follow Taron’s lead after that, to fall into the process and really _enjoy_ it, enjoy rounding out the notes and taking care to articulate each lyric. Taron’s cheeks get pinker as he continues to sing, they always do, and Richard just _watches_ him, captivated. Halfway through, Taron start wiggling a bit, kind of dancing along to the music. He winks at Richard, clearly holding back a laugh, and so Richard does the same. There are they are, dancing terribly to music and belting out their song like it’s something they could do in their sleep.

It ends so fast, much faster than Richard had expected at all. He blinks, a little disoriented, when the music ends and they take their headphones off, suddenly transported back to the present. “Did we get it?” Taron asks, looking over to the booth at Dex and the technician.

Dex gives them a thumbs up, grinning broadly. He presses the intercom. “Excellent! And on the first try!”

“Ha!” Taron exclaims, turning to pull Richard into a tight hug. “I told you, you fucking drama queen. He said it was excellent!” Taron gives Richard a smacking kiss on his cheek, patting his back excitedly.

Richard snorts, squeezing Taron right back. “I’m not a drama queen….”

Taron laughs right into his ear. “Yes, you are,” he tells Richard matter of factly, tightening his arms around Richard’s waist. It’s possible they’re letting their hug linger a little too long, especially with people just on the other side of that glass but Richard can’t bring himself to care too much. “So am I,” Taron says. “We’re _actors_ , it’s what we do.” Richard feels him nuzzle very slightly into Richard’s neck. “You did so great, Rich,” Taron whispers. “I’m so fucking happy we got to do this together.”

Richard feels himself melt a little into the embrace, tucking his own face into Taron’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “Me too.” He can feel the lines of Taron’s body pressed against his own, warm and firm and absolutely everything Richard wants.

Taron’s mind seems to be on the same track. “We should have drinks in tonight,” Taron suggests, dipping his fingertips just below the waistband of Richard’s jeans, out of sight of the recording booth. “I’ll mix them myself, whatever you want.”

Nipping shortly at Taron’s neck and smirking at the tiny gasp Taron lets out, Richard nods in agreement. “I like the way you think,” he tells Taron. “It’s why we’re best mates.” Taron laughs and clutches Richard even closer for a moment, before they finally separate and step back.

“You alright, lads?” Dex asks.

Taron grins, glances at Richard, then back at Dex. “We’re perfect, Dex.”

Richard nods, steps close enough to Taron that he can press a few fingers to Taron’s wrist. “Yeah,” he agrees, wholeheartedly. “ _Perfect_.”

**Author's Note:**

> my favorite thing is the first scene is practically verbatim something richard described in an interview--he really got goosebumps listening to taron sing and it really did convince him to join the film
> 
> kudos and comments (i reply) are my lifeblood
> 
> it's possible there may be at least one more fic coming from me


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